Love and Waffles
by kalabangsilver
Summary: It's not easy, sleeping with the Head of Section D... AU Harry/Ruth fluff.


_A/N – Completely AU, completely pointless and completely fluffy. Please enjoy!_

_Silver_

_._

_Love and Waffles_

.

It was not easy, sleeping with the Head of Section D. Quite often – in the depths of the night, or at some ungodly hour of the morning – the phone would start ringing and it would be the DG, or the Home Secretary, calling with a new threat assessment, or news of some terrible happening on British soil. It happened less than one might expect, knowing the hours MI5 officers usually kept, but often enough for Ruth to start to dread the ring of the telephone.

On this occasion, it started to ring at quarter to six.

Ruth groaned loudly, pulling a pillow over her head. The mobile's ring was insistent, but she was in no mood to get up and retrieve it. Her body was rebelling, stiff and sore. Last night had been one of epic proportions; a fundraiser, followed by dinner and a little too much wine. She and Harry had stumbled back home at well past midnight. If Ruth had had it her way, they would be sleeping well into the morning. It was a Sunday, after all. But Ruth very rarely had it her way.

The mobile chirped repeatedly. She remained resolutely still, hoping against hope that it was just her imagination – or a particularly insistent dream. It was not however. Just as she was about to lift herself off the bed, she felt Harry stir on her other side. The mattress creaked slightly, moving to accommodate the shift in weight as Harry rolled over and, leaning across her back, picked the phone off her bedside table.

The chirping had stopped. Ruth listened carefully, as Harry clicked the phone open and checked the call screen.

"Home Secretary, calling from a private line." He told her softly. He knew she was awake.

Ruth grunted, indistinctly.

"One missed call and one message." Harry clicked on something then read the message aloud. "Call him back. It's urgent."

Flopping back against his pillows, he closed the phone and dropped it onto Ruth's naked back. She flinched, as cold metal collided with her sleep-warmed skin. It was a rude awakening, on a morning she could really do without one.

"It's too early." She grumbled, at Harry. "He will just have to wait."

A moment passed, then the bedsheets rustled and his warm foot slid under hers. Ruth did not react. Harry's face nudged into the back of her shoulder. Once, then twice, then he placed a kiss across her shoulder blade. His fingertips sought out her lower back, rubbing across it in slow circles. He felt good, warm, comforting. She almost slipped back into slumber, but then his voice sounded, low and near her ear.

"Get up, Ruth."

It was just short of a command and Ruth scowled indignantly into the mattress in response, still refusing to budge.

"It's bloody six o' clock, Harry!"

"He's the bloody Home Secretary, Ruth." Her lover replied, silkily. Clearly, the years of practise meant he could face this turn of events with even stride.

Ruth, however, had not had years of practise. And she was notoriously grumpy after being woken, hung over, with only four hours of sleep.

"It's Sunday," she moaned, softly.

"Well then, you can rule out this being about a Christian fundamentalist atrocity, can't you – day of rest and all?"

With colossal effort, Ruth pulled her head up off the bed and frowned at Harry. There was more than a hint of laughter in his soft morning eyes. He was enjoying this. Them, in bed together, getting a call from work. As she watched him, he yawned widely and leant back against his pillows.

"Please get up, Ruth. I was the one who suggested you as successor, to my post. It shows me in rather a bad light, if you snub the Home Secretary during your first year in office."

Her first year in office... as Head of Section D. Ruth couldn't really bring herself to accept either part of that statement, quite yet. It seemed so strange, to think that the Home Secretary was calling her. It was not that she was not a good Head of Section. The reverse was true, in fact. She was excellent. She was diplomatic and organised and had experience of working in many sectors of the Intelligence services. Admittedly, she did not have a huge amount of field experience, but she hardly had time to leave her desk, nowadays, so it really made no difference. Besides, she had Dimtiri and the others to run around, shooting guns whilst hanging out of moving vehicles, jumping through windows and silly things like that. They were the action officers. She was the boss.

That felt strange to think, too. Especially when the man she had always – and probably would always – associate with the word 'boss' was lying in bed beside her. Smirking.

Ruth glared a little harder at Harry. It was okay for him. He did not have to go into work today. He did not have to crawl into Whitehall, looking like he had been dragged backwards through a bush. He did not have to suffer through politics and protocol briefings, just to satisfy some foreign dignitary who was refusing to sign a peace deal quietly. (Ruth was fairly sure that is what this call was about – nothing important, just a pompous politician, who wanted a better hotel suite. She would have to organise the security for said new suite, of course. It was nothing but the best for Mr Gupta. He held the papers of a very lucrative contract in his hands).

Ruth sighed. God, she wanted to go back to sleep...

"Up!" Harry nudged her playfully with his foot.

At a loss for any clever retorts, Ruth shot him one last angry look before rolling over and swinging her legs out of the bed. The floor beneath her feet was cold. Hardwood was slow to warm, even when the heating was running and the heating was not yet running at this time on a Sunday. She had Harry's pointlessly cavernous and single-glazed house to thank for that.

Grabbing her phone, Ruth shuffled bad-temperedly to the hallway. Her irritation multiplied as she paused, in the doorway, to look back at Harry. He was curling back down, amongst the sheets, looking incredibly comfortable. He probably would not stir for the next few hours. She knew he was retired, but still... there was no need to be so bloody smug about getting to have a lie-in. Heaving a sigh, Ruth turned and headed for the bathroom, answering the call to the Home Secretary on the way.

The call was depressing – and exactly what Ruth had expected – but the shower was restorative.

Standing under its hot torrents of water, Ruth's head cleared a little from the night before. She washed her hair and body quickly, before drying herself and padding off to the spare room. There was no real arrangement, for where she kept her clothes, but a few of her items lay lying around – awaiting the day when they finally took the step and fully moved in together. Digging around in one of Harry's spare drawers, Ruth found one of her jackets and a skirt. Coupled with her shirt from yesterday, it closely approximated formal wear, so she dragged it out and pulled it on, running a brush and a hairdryer over her hair as she did so. A few sweeps of mascara and she looked almost passable as a human being.

Grasping her phone and bag in one hand, she proceeded downstairs, in search of her shoes. She was just digging around behind the couch when a voice near her left shoulder caused her to jump and give a squeak of surprise.

"Coffee?"

"Harry!" she jumped and whipped around, surprised to find Harry standing not five feet away, holding out a steaming mug of what smelt like coffee. Her breath slowly released from her lungs. "God, I thought you were upstairs."

Harry's eyes glittered slightly as he approached.

"I'm fairly sneaky. Spook-like, some have said."

"Hah." She retorted, not very enthusiastically.

"Here, drink it." He held out the mug.

Ruth took it, ruining her facade of cool non-amusement, as she gulped down a sip. Her eyes closed instinctively and a moan vibrated in her chest. It tasted wonderful, completely wonderful. Warm, smooth caffeine slid down her throat like a soothing balm, waking her inside as the shower had done for her outside. Despite her soaring stress levels, Ruth sighed gratefully.

"Good?" Harry asked.

"Passable," she lied, opening her eyes and moving to lean back, against the couch. A glance at her watch told her she had nearly three minutes until the driver arrived; plenty of time to drink her coffee, then. Well, not quite, but it felt so good that Ruth could not resist. Besides, she reasoned, her boots would magically appear as she made for the door. She was fairly sure of it. "Thank you." She told Harry, more softly.

"You're welcome." Harry moved forwards into close proximity, legs brushing gently against hers.

Ruth sighed again. He was warm. The coffee was warm. The early morning sun, sliding in through the window, was warm. This was lovely, she did not want to have to drive across London and fight it out with the Home Secretary. She quite fancied calling him here and now and telling him exactly what she thought of their visiting dignitary and his hotel security issues.

"You are always welcome." Harry continued, running one thumb up the outside of her thigh. "Anything you want, anything you need."

Ruth watched him, suddenly wary, over the rim of her mug. It had taken her a good minute to realise what he was up to, but now that she did, she was anxious to avert it. Harry was good at seduction – almost as good as he was at sneaking up on her, when she thought he was upstairs, asleep. Seduction nearly always started with his touch against her thigh, or her hips, or her waist. He would graze against her, giving just enough contact to coax her closer, before pulling away again. It was a game of his, to make her come to him. Ruth knew the game well but, this morning, she did not have time to play it.

"Harry..." She said his name with gentle warning.

"I'm just wishing you good luck." He rewarded her with a lazy, innocent smile. Nudging closer, he leant in, placing a kiss against her forehead. As he did, Ruth noticed that his hands slid up to her hips. "Good luck," he whispered against her hairline.

"Thank you." She swallowed, trying to keep her face as deadpan as possible.

It was difficult. She might be Head of Section D, but Harry was boss spook. He had ways – secret, spy ways – of bending her to his will. It was not always with words. Sometimes, all it took was just his fingers, brushing against her skin. Sometimes, it was just the way his eyes dilated, dark and wanting, when he looked at her. He played the game very well. No matter who was running Section D, Harry would always be boss spook.

_Boss spook_.

Ruth sighed, wariness replaced by longing. His lips were inches away. Throwing caution to the winds, she tilted her head back and opened up the opportunity. Harry seized it. Leaning in, he brushed a soft kiss across her lips and then pulled away, for just long enough to meet her eyes before he pressed back in again. His lips were soft and warm, gentle but demanding.

Ruth moaned a little, reaching behind her to set the coffee mug on the side table. It wobbled a little as she set it down but, thankfully, did not fall. Once her hand was freed, Ruth raised it to Harry's neck, tracing up into slight prickle of stubble, along his jaw. He had not shaved for a day, she thought, feeling it brush against her lips and redden them, but she did not particularly mind – not when he was pressing his body against hers in the way that he was. Her heart beat a little faster as she felt him, semi-erect, against her. He was not making much of a secret about it. The way he arched into her, shielded only by the bathrobe, was tantamount to confession. Or, perhaps, just another layer of seduction.

She had given up trying to figure him out.

"Have a good day, yes?" he whispered, in a soft, smooth voice, against her cheek.

She mumbled something in reply. It could have been a 'yes' or, just as easily, a random word, plucked from the air to fill the moment. Either way, Harry read, in it, exactly what he was doing to her and pressed his advantage. Leaning closer, he ran one hand around the back of her neck, grasping at the skin, pulling her deeper into him. Soft lips, hot tongue.

Ruth knew she should pull back. She was getting very distracted, now. He was very hard against her. Every ounce of her being wanted to let him lead her back upstairs, to wind their bodies lazily against each other. The tiredness had faded back, replaced with slightly lethargic lust. Slow, gentle morning sex would be good. That's what she wanted, not a six-thirty meeting with the bloody Home Secretary.

God, why did she let herself get into these situations? Ruth swore breathlessly as Harry's hand had slid beneath the hem of her skirt, cupping the back of her thigh. She just had no control when she was around him. He knew her so well – her wants, her little weaknesses – she was putty to him. Usually, she did not mind being played with, but this morning she was really strapped for time and-,

The sound of a car engine, pulling up outside, caused Ruth to startle.

"Damn!" Wriggling free of Harry's grasp, she did an about-turn, and then scanned around herself, searching desperately for her bag and phone. She found them lying on the couch. Her boots, on the other hand, were still nowhere to be seen.

Harry murmured her name softly and Ruth shot him a frown. She nodded towards the window of the living room – through whose drawn blinds they could make out the dim outline of the MI5 pool car.

"Harry, I've got to,"

"Don't I get a goodbye?"

"Oh no," she shook her head, with a wry laugh, "you had more than your fair share of goodbye."

She ducked down, checking under the table. No boots. Shit.

"Not one kiss?"

"Harry!"

"Very well," he sighed. "Your boots are at the back door and I think Fidget's run off with your gloves."

Ruth looked around. Harry was leaning back against the drawing room wall, watching her with mild amusement and more than mild fondness.

"Thank you," she muttered, with measured calm. "I can get myself up in the morning, you know. I am capable."

"I know," he told her softly, "but I was the one who kept you up late. I thought it was only fair."

Trotting through to the kitchen, she sourced the boots and pulled them on, brushing them free of bits of grass from yesterday. Her coat was hanging over the chair, so she pulled that on too, despite it being a warm morning. She had to play the part, at least, even if she did not feel it; Ruth Evershed, boss spook. No, she shook her head to herself, walking back through the living room, past Harry who was now drinking the rest of her coffee. Harry would always be boss spook. She was just Head of Section D.

Ramming the last few things into her bag, she turned and faced Harry.

"Right, I'm off."

"Okay. Try not to let anyone blow up my city, will you?" Harry asked her softly, as she grabbed her keys off the mantelpiece.

Ruth frowned.

"Your city?"

"Yes. My city, my Section, my office."

Ruth raised an eyebrow, to convey her disdain at his claim of ownership.

"Well, do take care of them, anyway." Harry continued. "Where are you off to, Whitehall? Will you pick up breakfast on the way home. You don't seem in too much of a hurry. I take it this will be a short meeting?"

A thought occurred to her and Ruth decided to let it play out. Pacing back across the room, she walked right up until their noses were touching. Harry did not blink or, at least, he did not blink until she lifted her mouth to his and teased one last kiss out of him. It was deep and not so soft, and extremely demanding. By the time they parted, he was looking a little less smug.

"I'll bring you something nice." She told him, playing up the lust in her voice a little more than was strictly fair. Boss spook or not, Harry was still a man. His lips parted slightly, eyes growing a little more fixed, as he stared down at her. "What would you like?" she asked.

"What can you offer me?"

Harry knew perfectly well what she could offer him, depending on where she was going, in the city. It was a passive-aggressive, very spook-like way of asking where she was going – where her meeting was.

"Well," Ruth pretended to consider her answer. "I suppose, if I'm heading back from the office, Marks and Spencer's is nearest, so I would get donuts. But, if I was leaving a JIC meeting, I would pick up something from that diner you like. Whitehall is close enough to the embankment so, if I was coming back from there, I'd get waffles from the little waffle stand, down by the river. Unfortunately," she paused, swivelling her eyes back up to meet Harry's, "I can't tell you _what_ I can bring back, because I can't tell you _where_ I'm going." She gave him a little smile. "It's confidential and just a little above your payscale."

How quickly his expression shifted from lust to completely scandalised.

Smothering a laugh, Ruth reached up and kissed his slightly open lips, lightly.

"I'll see you later." She murmured into his skin. Then, turning on her heel, she strode out the front door.

Walking down the garden path, there was a little spring to her step. The morning, all of a sudden, did not seem so ridiculously early. In fact, it seemed cheerful and appropriately bright. The air was fresh and clear and the memory of Harry's face, caught completely off guard at her tease, was filling her with glee. It was a small victory, Ruth knew, and a light-hearted one, but it had put her in good stead for the meeting ahead. And it served Harry right after his annoyingly effective seduction routine.

Climbing into the back of the pool car, she bid the driver a cheerful good morning and stated her destination.

They drove there through the relative quiet of the six o' clock streets, arriving for the meeting in plenty of time. It was exactly what Ruth had expected, from the Home Secretary's phone call – all about their angry foreign dignitary and his paranoia over hotel security. The whole thing was over in about thirty minutes, Ruth emerging unscathed and only slightly ruffled.

Stepping down the Home Office building's great stone steps, she called Erin and Dimitir, asking them into Thames House, to create a new security protocol for the foreign dignitary's new hotel room. Ruth felt only minorly guilty, that she was asking them out of their beds, while she was about to head back to hers. She was the boss, after all, she reminded herself. Delegation was part of the job. After assigning tasks to her unlucky employees, she asked the driver to wait for her and headed down to one of the waffle stands along the tourist path, on foot.

Halfway along the embankment, she stopped and went to lean against the railing, slipping her phone free of her pocket.

Harry's number was not set to her speed-dial, not because she needed other numbers there, but because she had long ago memorised it and preferred to type it in manually. Somehow, it felt more personal. She entered it in and waited until he picked, up on the third ring. She did not speak, immediately, waiting for him to make the first move – but when she heard him sigh, she could not help herself.

"So, do you want anything on your waffles?" she asked, unable to keep the warmth from her voice.

There was a pause, during which Ruth could feel the pleasure in Harry's silence. She had told him where she was. Confidential and above his payscale, or not, she had told him. Because that was the end to their little game; they would dance around each other in circles and tease and hold back, but eventually, one would yield to the other. That last part had taken them years to learn but both players were very glad that they had. Morning sex and waffles beat running in perpetual circles any day.

"Waffles?" Harry eventually asked.

"Waffles." Ruth confirmed.

There was a pause, and then her lover's voice came back over the line, lilting softly.

"I like chocolate."

"Okay then. I'll be home in twenty." And she hung up.

Ruth did not waste words on goodbyes, because she and Harry had never really needed words, to convey their feelings. It was the little things that let her know what he was thinking. The lilt in his voice meant he was pleased. The silence at the end of a call meant I love you. Ruth had come to know these things, just as she was coming to know the tiny movements of his face, as he buried himself inside of her. Just as she had learned the way his breath hitched, when she was on top and the way he liked to lie afterwards in comfortable silence.

Knowing him as Harry was good.

With a smile, Ruth turned from the river and headed further down the embankment, to where the stall selling waffles was setting up for the day. The vendor knew her, by name, from past visits and greeted her kindly. She ordered the usual, with extra chocolate, and carried her plunder back up the street to the nearest applicable bus stop. She managed only to eat one waffle on the way home. The rest were for the boss spook.

.

Across town, Harry closed his phone and lay back down amongst the tangled sheets and duvet. He had been dozing ever since Ruth had left, not quite able to properly sleep until she was back, safe, in his company. But she would be back soon. It felt good to know it. Harry smiled. His Ruth, returning from a meeting with the Home Secretary. Having been her leader for years, having helped make her what she was now, Ruth's promotion had filled him with a large amount of pride.

Ruth Evershed: Head of Section D.

The smile widened across Harry's face. How that years-ago him would have laughed, he thought, to hear that Ruth would succeed him as Section Head. Not that ditzy analyst – not that girl, who tumbled into his briefing room, spilling her files! It had only taken a couple of months, for Harry to see that she was born for this. A born spook, he had told her.

It was not just about being born, however. Ruth worked bloody hard at what she did and everybody knew it. The Home Secretary and the DG themselves had supported her appointment to the post of Head of Section; their decision substantiated by a report Harry had prepared, in Ruth's defence, after the Albany fiasco. Once the buzzards had stopped circling and the dust had settled on the scandal, it was clear that she outranked the other candidates in experience, education and hours logged on the Grid. By far. To the politician's eternal credit (and to Harry's eternal gratitude) they had accepted her appointment.

Harry buried his head deeper into his pillow. If he had to leave the service, he could think of nobody better to stand in his stead. He trusted Ruth implicitly. She would protect his city, his Service, his Section. She would be a good leader. And – importantly – she would know when it was time to leave and somebody else would wear the mantle, for a while. He hoped that day did not come too soon. Despite the early morning wake-up calls, Harry knew that Ruth was enjoying her new position. It was nice, she had told him the other night, not to be overlooked. Nobody overlooked the Head of Section D.

Rolling over in bed, Harry squinted up at the clock. The face read half seven. In Harry's opinion, too early for a retired spook to be rising, so he tucked himself back under the duvet and decided to wait for Ruth in the bedroom. His body was relaxed and content. Ruth would be back, soon, bearing waffles. If he was lucky, and her meeting had gone well, he might even get lucky. Harry yawned again and smiled at himself. Selling out state secrets and retiring in shame had turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Closing his eyes, he settled back down for a nap. The room was warm, with sun and heat from the radiator. Maybe he and Ruth could get to spend the whole day together, undisturbed by further tragedy or terror threat. It was not the end of the world, if they could not. After all, the pair of them had existed under worse circumstances and lived to tell the tale. The important thing was that they knew that they had each other, at the end of every mess. They knew that now.

Harry yawned again. It was not easy, sleeping with the Head of Section D, but the love and waffles made it worthwhile. Infinitely so.

.


End file.
